


Who would win? A 180cm tall volleyball player, or some leafy bois?

by Milf_Hunter



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: "unrequited love", Blood, Choking, Despite some of the tags this fic is actually pretty tame i think, First-years as Second-years, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Self-Esteem Issues, So they're "Tadashi" and "Tsukki" in this, Unresolved family issues, Vomiting, Yamaguchi Tadashi-centric, a dash of angst, but no spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milf_Hunter/pseuds/Milf_Hunter
Summary: It's not supposed to kill him, but then it kind of does, and Tadashi's dying in more ways than one.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 186





	Who would win? A 180cm tall volleyball player, or some leafy bois?

It had to be some kind of mistake.

He’s handed a pamphlet, all bright colors and happy faces, titled ‘Hanahaki and You!’

He doesn't bother masking his contempt. _They actually give this to people?_

It had started with an itchy throat, nothing that really set off alarm bells, Japan was currently in the middle of spring after all. He'd assumed he was coming down with hay fever, like Tsukki, whose nose was bright red and congested to the point that he couldn’t pronounce nasal consonants. 

Tadashi’s own symptoms had been mild enough that he hadn’t thought to seek his doctor or bother with over the counter medicine (though Yachi had prompted him to do so after offering him a lozenge more than once at practice), but unlike Tsukki’s sinuses, which had cleared over time, the feeling in his throat had persisted. 

“Now, there are some misconceptions I would like to clear up before the end of this appointment,” Dr. Watari starts with unusual intensity. “Hanahaki isn’t a death sentence, unlike those popular drama’s would have you believe. Actually, I’d say the most accurate depiction of Hanahaki is in that one ongoing T.V show with Ayumi—”

“I wouldn’t know,” he interrupts.

Dr. Watari blinks owlishly at him for a moment before catching himself. He clears his throat. “Right. Well, there’s a lot of misinformation out there. Just know that Hanahaki _is_ manageable, and you can live just as much of a fulfilling life as someone without the condition.”

He stares at him expectantly.

He wants to go home.

Of course Tadashi considered it, thoughts of petals floating in the back of his mind for most of the day, only appearing in the forefront as a flash of panic before bed. 

His mom had gotten it, a long time ago when all he saw was the wonder of conjuring petals—daisies, he remembers them being—with a single cough. Too young to comprehend the meaning behind them, he hadn’t understood why his mom had sworn him to secrecy with wide frightened eyes, or why his parents fought so viciously when he’d accidentally let her secret slip over the dinner table. 

He frowns. 

His dad definitely couldn’t find out about this. 

“I can prescribe you some medicine that targets your petals and dissolves them into an easily digestible mush,” he resumes awkwardly when Tadashi says nothing. “As for the stems—wait, what flower did you say they were? Might have to give you some stronger stuff if it’s for roses. Thorns and all that.”

“Sakura petals.”

He raises a brow. “Sakura petals? You sure they weren't petunias? Carnations, maybe? Both are common pink flowers in Hanahaki patients.”

“I—no. Why? What’s wrong?” Dr. Watari had gone awfully tense. “I brought a bag of them with me if you want to make sure.”

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong!” he assures him. “But I would like to take a look at what you’ve brought.”

He takes the plastic bag of petals Tadashi pulls from his backpack. It’s a bit gross now, a pulpy mix of Sakura and spit, far from the solid clump of leaves they were nights ago. 

“I’ll have to get this tested,” he mutters more to himself than Tadashi. “Do you mind if I examine your throat again?”

He tentatively nods. 

“Open, please,” he requests methodologically, a miniature flashlight and tongue depressor already in his hands. 

Tadashi obliges, feeling the warmth of the light in his mouth, but winces when he feels the stick press into his tongue. Dr. Watari had been a lot gentler in his first check. 

Dr. Watari pulls away with a contemplative hum. “Is your throat hurting you at all? Scratches? Soreness?”

“It’s still a little sore after the first attack,” he confirms. 

It had come to a head two nights ago when he'd dreamt of blond hair and rare smiles, and woken up the next morning in a sweat, coughing out the fistful of petals that had been lodged in his throat. 

He hadn’t gone back to bed that night, too afraid of the petals claiming him in his sleep. 

“Your throat seems to be faring well, a little redness, but it’s nothing time won’t fix.” He opens his mouth, closing it a few times before he speaks again. “Out of curiosity, how likely do you see your feelings being returned?

Tadashi squirms awkwardly. He’d been told that these check-ups were all clinical and not at all invasive of his personal life.

“What does it matter?”

Dr. Watari sighs. “Apologies for making you feel uncomfortable, Yamaguchi, but I'll have to be frank: I can only write you a prescription for your petals. You haven’t reached the stem stage yet, and I’m not sure how they’ll form. If they end up forming thin and green, we can proceed as normal. But if they’re branches—”

“B-Branches!?” he splutters, gripping his neck.

“We might have to consider alternative options,” he continues as if Tadashi hadn’t interrupted him. “But I’m getting ahead of myself! These might end being a different species all together!”

It’s a lame attempt at making him feel better. Tadashi doesn’t release his grip. He can feel the blood pumping under his skin getting faster and faster.

“I’ll give you a call by the end of the week. In the meantime, try to avoid strenuous activities. That means no P.E and no, uh, was it volleyball?” 

That snaps him out of it. “What? No! I can’t just skip practice! Coach Ukai will kill me!”

“Your reasons are valid, I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll write him a note—”

“—No!” He cringes at his voice’s high pitch. “No, thank you. I can tell him myself."

Dr. Watari writes the note anyway, as well as a prescription for his petals, both penned in a messy scrawl that Tadashi has trouble making out, but the pharmacist behind the counter comprehends easily enough, if the quick swoop of his eyes is anything to go by.

He walks out of the clinic with his medication stuffed in the deepest depths of his backpack.

It’s raining, and a lot of cars whiz by in the afternoon rush, but the clatter of his pills sounds the loudest.

He wonders why his Hanahaki chooses now out of all times to make its appearance.

He’d read the pamphlet over enough times he could recite it word for word. He’d taken interest in a subsection labelled ‘late bloomer: a delayed response to unrequited love’ and in it, the pamphlet provided a near exhaustive list of reasons why flowers didn’t bloom at the first strike of loss at the heart. It ranged from hormone imbalances, to psychological harm, to general confusion of feelings and so on, but those susceptible to Hanahaki typically contracted the disease within a year.

He frowns at that.

He’s sure he’s been in love with Tsukki for at least three.

He’s not afraid to admit it…in his thoughts at least. His thirteen-year-old self had come to terms with it easily enough: Tsukki was the coolest guy he knew, no girl or guy could compete with him, therefore it was natural that he’d fall for him.

But Tadashi still mulls over that last point—the confusion of feelings bit. 

He wouldn’t say he’d ever been at loss on how he felt about his childhood friend. The way he saw Tsukki had certainly changed over the years, but he could confidently say he was aware of each emotional shift that, more often than not, accompanied major life events. No, if anything he was _too_ aware. 

Like the fact that Tadashi wasn’t enough 

The thought doesn't come from a place of self-hate. He knew Tsukki liked him well enough, valued his friendship, enjoyed his company, but at the same time he realized he wasn't the sort of person that could really rouse anything of significance in Tsukki.

Not like girls back in middle school that used to fluster Tsukki with their bold confessions.

Not like Hinata and Kageyama, who were always subject to his ire and envy, who made him want to be better. 

Not like Kuroo and Bokuto, who rekindled Tsukki’s love for volleyball in a few days when it had taken Tadashi _years_ to work a nerve and give him a piece of his mind.

Shamed as he was to admit it, for the longest time Tadashi had been content with having his apathetic friend stay the way he was: aimless and cynical with emotional walls built as high as the eye could see. Terrified of making the wrong move, Tadashi had decided that he’d rather have some of his friend than none at all. 

When did he start wanting more?

“Come on, Stingyshima! Yachi’s out sick today. Just help us out with the conjugation!” 

Tadashi starts at the loud voice. He looks to the side where Hinata and Kageyama stand by their joint desks, notebooks clenched in their hands. Judging by how red in the face Hinata was, they must have been duking it out a while now.

“No thanks. Business has closed indefinitely. Go bother someone else.”

Tsukki's rottenness towards the freak duo is nothing new, though some days when he was being especially mean, Hinata would shift his glare at Tadashi and ask him, genuine confusion in his voice, why he hung out with Tsukki, when he was just so… _Tsukki_. 

There was never any real heat behind the words (at least he doesn’t think), but still, Hinata thinks he’s the nice one—a bit ironic considering Tadashi was usually the one egging Tsukki on, the one snickering at the jabs that hit too perfectly, _and_ the one offering a few snarky phrases of his own. But Tadashi was never outright cruel, he'd like to think he was better than that.

Hinata turns to him with hopeful eyes. “Hey, Yamaguchi—”

So, it confuses him when something hot and ugly lurches in his chest.

“Can’t you idiots read the room?” he snarls. “No one wants to waste their lunch helping you!”

He says it loud enough to turn a few heads, but what really drains the color from his face are the looks his teammates give him, their faces frozen in varying levels of shock. But it's when Hinata’s expression shifts into something more pained does the guilt _really_ hit Tadashi like a whip.

“W-Whatever!” Hinata stutters. “We’ll just ask Ennoshita! At least he isn’t mean to us!”

Kageyama shoots Tadashi a dark look before he follows him out.

When the sliding door shuts, he hears someone mutter, “Dick move, Yamaguchi.”

His face grows hot. Though his classmates gradually lose interest in them, Tsukki’s eyes on him remain fixed. 

“What’s up with you?” he asks in a low murmur, likely not wanting to be overheard after that spectacle. 

_What_ is _up with me,_ echoes his thoughts. 

Wait. There was section in the pamphlet that mentioned this might happen: 

_‘Erratic Bouts of Emotion’: It’s not uncommon to experience intense mood changes when thinking of your unrequited one. Listed below are some behavioral techniques that may help you cope with intense feelings of anger, sadness, or jealousy. If you find these irregularities persist, please seek help from one of our many Hanahaki mental health specialists…_

Oh no. 

Was this supposed to be his life now? Unable to keep embarrassing secrets under wraps, he’d lash out as some sort of defense mechanism? 

Tsukki couldn't know about this. He had to keep these bursts under control or he'd end up giving himself away. It was easy to imagine Tsukki's look of surprise and eventual discomfort at an impromptu, spluttering confession, the distance he’d set between them because he obviously didn’t feel the same way, and then—the inevitable end of their friendship. 

He feels sick.

“Yamaguchi?” Tsukki prompts again, his voice less quiet. 

And had he really not answered yet? Nice, now whatever bull came out of his mouth would sound even _less_ believable.

Wait. Something was actually coming out of his mouth—oh god.

“I’m going to go apologize,” he says in a rush. He snatches his bag off his desk before bolting out of his chair.

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t actually go out to seek out his friends. He runs past class 2-1 without a second thought, bumping into a few shoulders on his way to the closest boys' bathroom.

He kicks open the first (luckily unoccupied) stall and hurls a stream of pink mush into the toilet. He manages shallow gasps in between heaves, throat constricting as it pushes to get everything out. It exits with an intense burning feeling, even more than time he'd caught the flu as a kid, barfing out pure bile as his mom had rubbed circles into his back. 

Tears sting the corners of his eyes blurring his vision as he coughs out the last vestiges of Sakura pulp from his throat. His knees go all wobbly, eventually giving out as he collapses onto the grimy bathroom floor.

With trembling fingers, he unclasps the buckles on his backpack, hurriedly ruffling through the contents inside until he feels the cold plastic of his prescription bottle.

He glares at the offending object, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall.

This was supposed to make things better. Well, at least make _it_ a little more manageable.

He swallows a pill, grimacing at feeling of its slow painful trek down his still sensitive throat.

Was just the thought of rejection enough to trigger an attack?

With a thumb, he rubs away the remaining wetness from the corner of his mouth.

He hopes Dr. Watari calls him soon.

_To: Tsukki!!☽ [15:00]: can you tell coach i’m not coming in for practice?_

__

__

_From: Tsukki!!☽ [15:03]: Why? Is this about lunch?_

At that text, Tadashi can feel hot pricks of shame biting his cheeks. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t avoiding Hinata and Kageyama (he’s still reeling from how mean he was), but after today, he really does try and heed Dr. Watari’s warning. No physical training until he gives him the OK.

_To: Tsukki!!☽ [15:04]: no. just remembered i have to run some errands_

He waits a few minutes, but when Tsukki doesn’t respond, Tadashi pockets his phone and assumes he’s in the clear.

He’s not used to heading out so early. The foyer is packed with students all squeezing past each other to get to their lockers. He gets intimidated just looking at them, too accustomed to the morning’s slow trickle of students. He decides to hang back for a bit and let the throng ease.

He awkwardly fiddles with his phone, contemplating the appropriateness of sending an apology text to Hinata when he feels eyes boring into the back of his head. 

He shoots up in a panic: Was it one of his senpais? A teammate?

He turns around too quickly and strains his neck in his haste.

It’s not a senpai, nor any other member of the team, thankfully.

He locks eyes with a girl he’s not really familiar with (she jumps when she gets caught), but recognizes from the class next door. She’s a small girl with short hair framing a pretty face. She vibrates with nervous energy. He knows exactly what she wants. 

She smiles as she approaches him, though it’s forced. “Hey, Yamaguchi, right?”

He makes a run for it.

“Wait—”

He tells himself that literally running away from his problems is a form of self-care—which it was, in a convenient sort of way. 

But he’s never really understood why girls thought talking to him would better their chances with Tsukki. It’s wasn’t like his words carried any weight when it came to Tsukki’s love life—like they even talked about love in the first place! Tsukki tended to shut down all romantic-related conversations pretty quickly. 

It sometimes made him wonder about his preferences. Did Tsukki even like girls? Or boys? People? Maybe he thought Tadashi wasn’t worth sharing that kind of information with. It made sense. Tsukki rarely talked past safe, surface level topics with him. The pinnacle of indifference most days, the rare instances where he did open up, Tadashi treasured like a gift. 

That probably wasn't normal.

His throat clenches; he gulps. 

His walk home is eerily quiet. It’s strange not having anyone there on the receiving end of his admittedly meaningless chatter, or his bouts of silence not filled by the faint sound of music emitting from Tsukki’s headphones. Even his side feels a little chilly with no one standing beside him, and Tadashi crouches within himself to compensate.

When he gets home, he’s greeted to an empty house with all the lights shut off, but the T.V still running quietly in the background.

With a sigh, Tadashi starts on dinner, and definitely does not think about practice.

Really, he should be glad he’s getting a break. He won’t have to wake up early on a Saturday for endurance training (a blessing for his strained knees), he’s spared of having to go through the motions of serving and receiving ball after ball (relieving him of the post-practice swelling he gets on his palms and forearms), and best of all, he wouldn’t have to suffer changing through the club room's stale sweaty stench.

It was all very overrated.

Another sigh.

Tadashi puts away his dad’s portion of dinner—slightly overcooked white rice and vegetable curry—in the fridge and takes his own plate in the living room. He has some time to kill, and he didn't really feel like spending his extra hours of freedom on homework.

He flips through channels with no real idea of what he wants to watch. There are a ton of day-time soap operas running, none of which catch his interest, and after going through twenty or so channels, Tadashi almost gives up on the whole thing when—

—Petals.

His thumb stutters over the remote.

For a moment, he wonders if this is the drama Dr. Watari had talked about in their appointment, but seeing as blue-black petals dance in the wind, delicately escaping through the space of meticulously painted lips, a somber but beautiful expression, the way a man embraces a woman in tears—Tadashi doubts it.

_‘Hana-chan, how long have you…’_

_‘This is why I’ve been avoiding you, Daisuke…I didn’t want you to see me look so pathetic.’_

He shuts off the TV off and walks back to the kitchen, opting to wrap his dinner up for later. That melodramatic display had quickly quashed his appetite.

The next time he skips practice, Tadashi excuses himself a few minutes before the final bell and hides out in the boys’ bathroom.

Ten minutes after class when he’s sure Tsukki decides to head to the gym without him, he sends the text.

_To: Tsukki!!☽ [15:10]: hey, i’m not feeling so great. think i’ll head home_

__

_From Tsukki!!☽ [15:11]: That’s funny, you looked fine before_.

__

_To: Tsukki!!☽ [15: 11]: sudden bug. didn’t see it coming. sorry_.

__

_From: Tsukki!!☽ [15:12]: Right. Don’t be surprised if Ukai starts hunting you down._

He’s not sure if that’s meant as a warning or a threat. He doesn’t wait to find out.

The third time he skips practice, it’s Hinata who catches him in the act.

It’s his own fault, really. He made his way to foyer, determined to beat the rush when he spotted the girl from yesterday. She was leaned against his locker with her arms crossed impatiently and a look that promised murder. 

Naturally, he ran. 

He didn’t really have a plan to deal with her yet. Would he wait it out? Go home the long way without a change of shoes? Maybe be upfront and tell her he wasn’t going to be her messenger boy? He snorts. _Hilarious—_

“Yamaguchi!”

He stops in his tracks.

It’s the first they’ve spoken since Tadashi blew up at him.

“Hinata,” he greets back cautiously.

“Did ya hear? Coach said we’re going to have another practice match against Aobajohsai next week! _Woo!_ I’m so excited! My spikes have really been on point lately! Oh, but I heard they’ve recruited some annoying first-years—”

“I’m sorry about before!” he blurts out, cutting him off like an idiot.

_Ahh, I should’ve just texted him. Why am I like this?_

Hinata blinks a few times before his words seem to click. “Oh, that’s okay!” he laughs, waving him off with an easy grin. “See you at practice?”

Right. That was still a thing.

“I’m not going today,” he says rubbing the back of his neck—a little tick that anyone with eyes knows he did when he was embarrassed or _lying_. “I have a…thing.”

Hinata cocks his head with a frown. “A thing?”

He nods, pretending his face isn’t in a grimace because of that sad excuse.

But maybe Hinata’s still cautious of Tadashi’s temper because he doesn’t pry further.

“Well, okay! See you later!”

He almost misses morning practice, offering another flimsy excuse (“ _Yes,_ Tsukki, I really slept through my alarm. I should probably get around to replacing it, _haha._ ”) when Tsukki takes the time to call instead of text this time around. His voice is flat, almost drowned out by the squeak of sneakers and the sound of volleyballs smashing in the background. It makes his fingers twitch with want.

“Oi, are you listening?” Tadashi jolts.

“O-Of course I am!”

“So, you’ll come to practice then?”

“Ah, about that…” Dr. Watari still hadn’t called back.

Tsukki exhales sharply. “What is it this time? Were the stars not aligned? Did you misplace your chopsticks? Walk past four black cats on your way home yesterday?”

“Tsukki, what—”

“Yamaguchi, if you don’t want to practice, then fine, no one’s going to force you, but stop giving me these idiotic excuses—it’s lame. If you want to quit…”

This was not a conversation he expected to be having, at least not this early on. He had to fix this and fast.

“I’ll go,” he says in a panic. “I’m sorry, Tsukki. I’ll go. I promise I won’t skip this time.”

_Fuck._

There’s a long pause.

“So, you really were skipping?”

_Fuck._

Coach Ukai is working him to death, but Tadashi has a plan.

He has maybe ten minutes until their next break. Normally, Tadashi spends that time stretched out in the sidelines assuaging his aching limbs. More importantly, he accepts the water bottle Yachi gives out to him and the rest of the team.

There isn’t going to be a bottle. That bottle, along with his medication, are both safely tucked away in his locker. Yachi will quickly realize her mistake (and he’ll feel bad for throwing her off her game, especially knowing that she still lacks the confidence of taking the managerial role solo) but Tadashi will insist on grabbing it himself.

He’ll take his medication soon after, and hold onto the hope that the pills will counteract any adverse side effects that physical activity brings him.

And all should go well assuming…

Assuming Tsukki doesn’t interfere.

Tadashi risks a glance his way. Tsukki’s on the other side of the court with Hinata, Kageyama, and Tanaka, practicing a standard block-spike drill. Unlike Tadashi, he’s focused on what he does, and has an intense look in eyes that catches him by surprise.

 _It shouldn’t be surprising,_ he chides himself. Maybe it’s his brief absence from the court that makes him forget that Tsukki’s grown more in the past year than ever before. His earlier outburst may have seemed out of character, but seeing Tsukki now—blocking ball after ball, taking hit after hit, jump after jump with few intervals between them—it’s no surprise he snapped at Tadashi’s sudden shift in attitude. He probably came across as a total hypocrite, telling off Tsukki at last year’s training camp, but skipping practice like he thought it was some sort of trivial after school club.

A whistle shrills by his ear. “Keep it moving, Yamaguchi!”

“Yes, sir!”

Luckily, break eventually does come around, and Tadashi executes his plan successfully (with the exception of Tsukki, who arches a brow at him as he leaves the gym).

The corridors are empty, give or take a few blearily-eyed students. Tadashi jogs over to his locker, mechanically twisting the knob to the combination numbers, when he notices a post-it note stuck in-between the crack of his locker door.

It reads: _‘If you want your stuff back, you’ll face me like a man ♡’_

He looks down at the lock he still fiddles with, realizing it’s already unlocked. But the horror doesn’t really sink in until he slowly opens the small door to reveal…nothing.

No water bottle.

No bag.

No pills.

_Nothing._

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, questioning every life choice he’s ever made, when Yachi finds him and drags his lifeless corpse back to the gym.

He should’ve bailed right then and there, because the next half of practice goes downright horrible. He doesn’t push himself as hard for fear of a dry throat and what it may entail, and Coach Ukai has little patience for it, yelling at him for every mistake and sign of laziness he shows.

“Why come here if you aren’t going to give it 110%?”

He wonders the same.

He does end up gaining some of his lost vigor in the few minutes he has before class though, fuming at the absolute _nerve_ of that girl as he stalks the halls looking for her.

He knows some of Tsukki’s fan-girls (yup, that’s what he was calling them now. No girl that really liked Tsukki would sink this low) could be a little much at times, but this was _too_ much. If she was brazened enough to break into Tadashi’s locker, steal his stuff, and (unknowingly) put him at risk, why was it _so_ difficult to get Tsukki alone and confess?

He was so tired of playing this pathetic game of cat and mouse. He'd dealt with enough of that in middle school. Tadashi had his own issues to worry about now, he didn’t need it further complicated by some girl who thought was entitled to his time.

Tadashi doesn’t find her lingering in the hallways, or the lockers, and a quick look out the window finds that she isn’t on school grounds.

He loiters by her classroom door at one point, hoping to catch her before the bell, but the homeroom teacher, ever punctual, ends up curtly telling him to get to class.

He slumps in his chair and lets his head fall on his desk.

The day had just started and he was already over it.

“Hey, Tsukki,” he whines, not caring about how pathetic he sounds. “Can we share textbooks?”

“What happened to yours?” 

He hesitates, considering between giving a partial answer, or a different one altogether.

He must take too long to decide because Tsukki’s eyes are narrowed on him now, sharp and suspicious. “Did someone take your stuff?”

He sits up. “No, it’s nothing like that! Nobody’s stolen my stuff since middle school.” _It’s just being held hostage at the moment,_ he thinks, but doesn’t add. “It’s just…you know…”

“No?” 

“I left it at home!” he spits out, and wonders why he hadn't gone with that in the first place.

The sharp look in his eyes doesn’t let up. Tsukki holds his gaze for longer than necessary (he probably expects Tadashi to crack under his stare—he’s well aware of his power), but when Tadashi levels the stare with what he hopes is a neutral look of his own, Tsukki relents and brings their desks closer together making it easier to share.

“Thanks, Tsukki.”

He gives a non-committal hum in return. 

They go on from there.

His close proximity to Tsukki is nothing new (sometimes Tsukki will push him away when he gets too close during one of his more excitable moods—Tadashi’s always been a touchy-feely sort of person; Tsukki not so much) but maybe it’s something about his most recent burden that gives him a different perspective this time around.

He wonders if his hair always caught in the sunlight like that. The bright white-yellow tufts of hair crowning his head look almost unrecognizable to him and sparks his curiosity. Was it as soft as it looked? Warm from being soaked by the indirect light? Tadashi comes to the realization that he’s never really touched his hair before, not even for a friendly tousle, and he fights the urge to card through it.

His gaze lowers, locking onto his eyes' side profile. His lashes aren’t as long as Tadashi remembers them to be, short and surprisingly dark, but they’re thick and frame his amber eyes quite nicely, flicking out at the sides to give them an elongated and sharp appearance. It never failed to give his meaner glares that extra fear factor, and his kinder looks—

Tsukki looks at him.

His eyes snap back towards the textbook, face flaming.

Sneaking glances? Really? It’s like he was thirteen again with a fierce, new, and embarrassing crush.

He shudders, trying (and failing) not to think about all the ways he used to make a total fool of himself in front Tsukki—stuttering over every other word, being overly clingy, showering him with praises until he got the occasional odd look from a classmate (or until Tsukki told him to shut up).

Hm. 

Nope. He was not thinking about this now. He was not going to beat himself up over how pathetically stagnant he was in love—hell, every other aspect of his life. He was going to focus on the words on the page, pretend he found these haikus interesting, and as soon as the lunch bell sounded, he would visit class 2-3, comply to his bag thief’s demands, and get his stuff back.

Yes, another seemingly solid plan, but what if…what if he went to her class and she had a suspiciously knowing look on her face? Like she knew exactly why Tadashi was so desperate to get his stuff back, like she had thoroughly searched his bag for potential blackmail material and struck gold upon reading the label on his medicine bottle?

This was dangerous, _dangerous_ ground.

_Deep breaths Tadashi. Remember what the pamphlet said: ‘even breathing, positive thinking, and a visualization of your problem flower’s destruction.’_

He could do this.

“Yamaguchi.”

He jerks in surprise.  


“Y-Yes?”

“I’m going to the cafeteria. Want anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks though!”

He watches Tsukki leave the classroom, and as soon he’s out of sight, releases a weary sigh.

He’s starving. He missed breakfast in his rush to morning practice, but now, with anxiety churning his stomach, just the thought of eating makes him feel sick.

He’s never been good with confrontation. Standing up for himself had gotten him relentlessly bullied, enhancing his sense of self-preservation, but squashing what little sense of courage he had left in him. It’s why he still sometimes hides behind Tsukki when Kageyama’s glowers towards them are especially vicious, why he fades into the background during pre-game clashes with opposing teams, why he stood by so long when Tsukki fell into his slump, too afraid of saying the wrong thing.

If only he could feel a surge of his earlier bravado, fueled only by indignance and indignance alone, maybe then he could uproot these legs and _go_ , but of course, he had to consider the worst possible outcome of his meeting her. Of course, he had to chicken out at the last minute when time was of the essence. Of course—

“Oh, Yamaguchi~”

Of course.

He looks to the corner, and sure enough, it’s the girl from the class next door looking far too pleased with herself. His bag hangs off the tips of her fingers, pointedly swung his way, like he’s a dog being offered a tantalizing treat.

Some of his classmates seem to be getting the wrong idea, if the suggestive leers and the one wolf-whistle mean anything.

“Isn’t that Fumiko from class 2-3?”

“You _go_ , Yamaguchi!”

Well, if there was ever a sign.

He gets up from his chair, not bothering to correct his classmates' mistake (it always seems to dull the atmosphere when he admits that no girl actually likes him, that he instead plays as a sort mediator, passing on confessions to Tsukki from the shy girls too afraid to approach him—he usually gets a pitiful clap on the back for it) He follows behind ‘Fumiko’, all stiff limbs and revved nerves, unsure of where they’re headed.

He thinks maybe the rooftop (it would be a very manga-esque style of confrontation, but access had been blocked for months) or the field behind the gym (at worst, they’d run into Hinata or Kageyama), but he’s surprised to find she stops at the end of the hallway, and sure, it may not have been bustling with students, but he’d hardly call it private.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been avoiding me,” she says with a frown.

“Can I please just have my stuff back?” 

“Just let me say my piece, then I’ll return your duffel bag.”

He clenches his fist, suppressing the urge to tell her that he knows exactly what she wants to say. That’s she not the first girl that’s tried to manipulate him like this, and she definitely wouldn’t be the last.

 _She really won’t be,_ he thinks with a wave of sadness.

“So,” she begins, a little meek—shocking, considering her behaviour these past couple days. “Tsukishima rejected me a while back.”

“Oh.” Tsukki hadn’t said anything about it, not that he expected him to, but it makes him wonder why he’s been called out like this, if not to pass on a confession. “Sorry,” he adds as an afterthought.

She shrugs. “I expected it, honestly. I can count the number of conversations we’ve had on one hand.”

 _But that was enough for you to confess?_ he thinks, probably a bit meanly.

“So…if Tsukki already rejected you, what do you need me for?”

The question seems to fire her up. “That’s the thing! I barely got a word in before he flat out told me no! Does he have a girlfriend?”

“Well, no—”

“Perfect! Then can you convince him to go out with me? Just one date, and I won’t bother him again.”

“But he already turned you down?”

“I know that!” she snaps. “But…he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t even want to take the chance to get to know me. Don’t you think he should at least have a sense of who I am before turning me down?”

There’s a pregnant pause as Tadashi considers her words. 

“When Tsukki rejects someone, he means it. He’s not the wishy-washy type, you know?” Is the answer he settles for.

He really tries to put it nicely, really tries to reel back on the snarky attitude he reserves for Hinata and Kageyama, lest this conversation drag on, but he feels his hackles rising. Something about her words puts him on edge. Maybe it’s her sense of entitlement towards Tsukki, or the fact that her next course of action was to harass him after getting rejected. Whatever it was, he was shutting this down now.

“So, you’re not going to help me.” It’s not a question.

He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t really have much input when it comes to Tsukki’s dating-life. Sorry.”

“What do you mean?” She’s yelling now, of course she is. "I thought you two were close! Has Tsukishima even told you anything about his ideal girl?”

His smile stays plastered.

“ _Ugh_ , my friends were right. You’re useless!”

“Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, can I have my bag back?” He takes a hold of the strap, attempting to tug it away from her iron grip. “Let go.”

She glares at the offending object like it’s the source of every one of her problems. “Who cares about your dumb bag! What’s so important about it that you finally decided to stop being a coward and face me?”

 _She doesn’t know,_ he thinks, relieved. He’d figured as much, considering the fact that she hadn’t used it as leverage to begin with. Then again maybe the thought was a bit cruel. Tadashi did have the awful habit of villainizing the girls that liked Tsukki.

But right now, Tadashi saw Fumiko as a final boss.

Not exactly worth pleasantries, you see.

“It’s not important,” he lies. “But you’re going overboard. Who steals someone else’s belongings over a crush?”

Her eyes widen at his words, surprised and maybe a little embarrassed. “Steal? I didn’t _steal_ anything!” She releases her grip. “I only did what I did because you kept running away from me. You’re just like Tsukishima! Neither of you are willing to give me the time of day.”

“You can’t force your feelings onto Tsukki.”

“I wouldn’t,” she insists, looking increasingly uncomfortable by the minute. “I’m not a psycho.”

“Then stop doing this.” He hoists his bag over his shoulder. “Leave Tsukki alone. Leave _me_ alone.”

Now seemed like a better time than any to turn tail. With the way Fumiko worries her lower lip, it looks like she's about to say more, but Tadashi won’t give her the chance. Not after all the trouble she’s put him through.

He’s so tired. Maybe he’ll take a nap in the infirmary

“Wait!” She grabs a hold of his wrist before he can leave. “Please. I only asked Tsukishima out—he didn’t give me enough time to confess! Can’t you help me?”

He breaks the grip, throwing his hands up in frustration. 

“Step back and see the bigger picture,” he snaps. “Your feelings are just going to burden Tsukki. Appreciate what you have, or you’ll lose everything.”

He’s not sure if the words are meant just for her anymore.

He feels a sudden heaviness behind his eyes that makes his vision swim.

“What do you mean?” she asks, like he’s been anything but clear.

“You’re not enough for him,” he replies, blunt. His vision clouds further, and Fumiko is just a blur. “You’ll never be enough for him.”

He suspects that had it been anyone else, like one of the less forward girls that never confess to Tsukki outright and opt for Tadashi’s pseudo messenger services instead, they would’ve cowed from his looming form, or his harsh truths. He thinks Fumiko nearly does with her scrunched face of hurt, but something seems to register as his vision clears and wetness falls on his cheeks; Fumiko’s expression blanks and she looks at him, _really_ looks at him, for what seems like the first time.

“I—Oh. _Oh_."

The blood comes before the pain. They’re little splatters of red that disappear into the darkness of gakuran. A forceful cough however makes his arm shift and he feels—sees—the warm red flecks settle onto his clenched fist.

__

There’s a momentary sense of wrongness: thoughts of his blood not belonging there; an adverse reaction to his mouth suddenly tasting like copper, and a sense of discomfort towards the thick lining in his throat.

__

Then comes a pain so sharp he doubles over. He clenches his neck and tries to swallow back the feeling of a thousand needles poking every which way, but the attempt only makes it worse. He can feel something solid and sharp push against his esophagus, and he recoils at the bumps and sharp edges that grate against his passage.

__

He opens his mouth and tries to scream, tries to sound a call for help, but his voice only cracks and splutters. 

__

Outstretching an arm, he grasps the space in front of him but finds there’s no one there. He’s not sure when Fumiko leaves his side, and even in his panic, his chest squeezes at the reminder that she’s figured him out and his life is most definitely over.

__

A wave of nausea washes over him. Tadashi carelessly clasps a hand over his mouth, quickly realizing his mistake when blackness creeps along the edge of his vision at the sudden loss of air.

__

He’s on the floor now, just barely catching himself from falling flat on his face with a propped knee and a hand braced against the wall. He’s short of breath, only managing shallow gasps with the foreign substance still in his throat; he can feel its slow trek upwards, the tiny tears it makes with the friction, the excessive wetness that seep from the sensitive flesh.

__

“Yamaguchi!”

__

Hands grab his shoulders, bony fingers digging into him hard enough to make him wince. He’s pulled forward and comes face-to-face with Tsukki, his eyes wide and searching.

__

“Yamaguchi, what’s wrong?” he glares over his shoulder. “Go get the nurse!”

__

“R-Right!”

__

“I—” A dry heave cuts him off. “ _Hurts_.”

__

Tsukki curses under his breath. “Is there anything I can do?”

__

Tadashi motions towards his bag, which somehow finds itself on the other side of the hall. At this point, he’s not sure how much relief the pills will give him, or if he’ll be able to take any in this state, but it’s better than doing nothing.

__

Tsukki turns away from him, and Tadashi finds himself looking intently at his retreating back.

__

And then what he hopes wouldn’t happen, happens.

__

A breeze of petals escapes his lips in a sharp exhale, wet and dyed red.

__

A harsh cough, and more petals, this time in disgusting clumps which he catches in his hand.

__

And finally, what creeps up his throat finds its way up to the base of his tongue, hard and pointy, nothing like the soft glop of Sakura he’s dealt with several times over.

__

Tadashi opens his mouth, his heart pounding against his chest, and reaches inside before he can second guess himself.

__

Fingers clasp around his wrist. Tsukki’s back at his side, his face in a grimace. “What are you doing?” he chides, horrified.

__

And pulls.

__

The relief is instantaneous.

__

In between his fingers is a branch, long and thin with tiny Sakura buds at the ends that have yet to bloom. It’s a sight indeed, the branch is surprisingly pristine, though a little red at the edges where it had pierced him, but it’s still nice enough to stick in a vase, or in the grass by his backyard.

__

_Ah, it’s really over for me this time,_ he thinks woefully.

__

He hears Tsukki’s quiet ‘oh’ of understanding.

__

He can’t find the courage to look at him.

A tired looking woman pokes her head into the waiting room. “Tadashi Yamaguchi?”

__

He jumps in his seat. “Here!”

__

She nods towards her office and walks ahead. Tadashi tentatively follows behind her, taking a seat on an examination bed when she motions for him to do so.

__

She gives her clipboard a quick read before setting it aside on her desk. “Ah, right. Dr. Watari mentioned you have a particularly nasty case of Hanahaki.”

__

He cringes at her bold choice of words, rubbing his arm self-consciously before confirming with a quiet “Yeah…”

__

At the mention of the GP, Tadashi tries not to shudder remembering the angry, reproachful look Dr. Watari had given him all throughout his emergency visit (the school nurse had been the one to drive him there since his dad—a.k.a his only emergency contact—had failed to pick up) as well as the booming lecture he’d received after the doctor had administered a bark-based medicine for his aching throat.

__

_‘I’m appalled you would deliberately ignore my warnings!’_

__

_‘You put yourself at great risk! The attack could’ve easily been fatal!’_

__

_‘When your school calls to follow up with me, I’ll be sure to inform them about the cautions I’ve outlined in my note, which I’m sure you’ve failed to provide to them!’_

__

He’d never seen Dr. Watari so livid—maybe a little huffy with his dad in their shared appointments, but he never outright yelled, never had that scrunched expression that just looked so _wrong_ on his usually soft face. It made his gut coil unpleasantly. It made him want to make things right. 

__

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she says reassuringly, though it comes off a bit mechanic with her flat voice and even flatter expression.

__

“Right,” he confirms with a slight waiver.

__

His eyes follow the doctor—Asami, according to her name tag—watching as she slips on a pair of blue disposable gloves and gathers some medical tools which she sets on a metal tray.

__

“I also received an update to your referral this morning. Dr. Watari informed me that you’ve progressed to the branches stage of your Sakura-type Hanahaki. You suffered a recent attack?”

__

“Yesterday,” he clarifies.

__

“And are you taking anything for the pain?”

__

“Dr. Watari prescribed me something for it—uh, here.” He can’t pronounce the name for it, so he shows her a copy of the prescription. She reads it with a quick glance.

__

“Do you mind if I give your throat a quick look?” she asks like he has a choice in the matter, already holding a tongue depressor and medical flashlight.

__

He resigns to his fate, opening his mouth with a wince, but she’s surprisingly gentle. She presses and prods where he’s most sensitive, but it’s bearable.

__

“There’s definitely some damage,” she observes. “Your throat is very swollen.” 

__

She sits back on her stool with her arms crossed, seeming to deliberate on her next words. “Dr. Watari was right, this is definitely an urgent case. I think it’s best we discuss your options now.”

__

His mouth goes dry at the mention. “And what are they exactly?”

__

She tilts her head. “Well, I say ‘options’, but there’s really only one. Have you heard of the Up-root surgery before?”

__

He has a vague idea, but shakes his head in the negative.

__

“To give you a bit of background, it’s a procedure typically reserved for patients who have been diagnosed with Hanahaki for longer than two years. Many patients undergo the surgery to rid themselves of the disease’s associated physical and psychological effects, as well as the burden of taking frequent dosages of medication; however, because there are currently no available medications for tree type Hanahaki on the market, a surgery is a necessity. Should you suffer another attack, death maybe a probable outcome.”

__

His blood runs cold.

__

Dr. Watari said the same thing, hadn't he? But he hadn’t really taken it in, too focused on the fact that his doctor had shown a completely different side of himself, too focused on the fact that Tsukki knew and would probably know more as the day went on.

__

She turns towards a human body diagram hanging on the wall across from him. “Essentially, it’s a surgery that removes plant roots attached to the trachea,” she continues easily, as if she hadn’t dropped the earlier bombshell, but he gets it. Sort of. One look at his throat must be enough to understand the severity of his condition, and it wasn’t like _he_ didn’t think he was dying at the initial stage of his attack, but Tadashi would appreciate a softer transition into his harsh reality regardless.

__

She points at base on the neck. “Once removed, you should stop getting attacks of both branch and petal variety, and you’ll find your attachment towards your unrequited one gradually fading.”

__

“You mean I’ll stop liking them? The surgery really does get rid of your feelings?”

__

She looks at him like he’s said something stupid. “Hanahaki is a disease that’s connected to romantic sentiments, Yamaguchi. To uproot the diseased roots means the end of those related attachments,” she explains. “But just to clarify, the procedure doesn’t get ‘rid of your feelings’. Not anymore. The days of unethical lobotomy are long gone.”

__

He frowns. Now he understands why she shoots him that look. It’s probably covered in every high school psychology textbook in the country: a dark history of illicit medical procedures to treat all sorts of mental illnesses, and Hanahaki comes up pretty often. Those unable to hide ‘forbidden’ feelings towards taboo subjects often found themselves discriminated against, and were marked as easy targets for experimentation. It was one of the reasons Tadashi condition was being kept under wraps, even from his dad. 

__

“Sorry, dumb question,” he says with an embarrassed flush.

__

It’s her turn to frown. “Well you’re not entirely wrong, things will change—just not in the way you expect.” And then says, “If you have any questions about that or anything else, I’ll be happy to answer them.”

__

He scratches his cheek, considering. “Ah, then, about the surgery…what do the risks look like?”

__

“They’re relatively low—at worst you’ll get some pain or leakage. The operation carries about the same mortality rate as a Tonsillectomy, so you have little to worry about. I’d honestly be more concerned about post-operative care,” she says with a pointed look.

__

He splutters. “I didn’t think—”

__

“As long as you’re aware now, it’s fine,” she coolly interrupts. “Any other questions?”

__

He shifts awkwardly. How much had Dr. Watari spilled, exactly? “Well, I guess I have kind of heard some things here and there about the surgery? Not that I’ve really looked anything up, but, uh, it’s not a permanent fix, is it?”

__

She gives him a long, thoughtful look before she answers, “It depends on the patient.”

__

“What do you mean?”

__

“It’s a bit complex, Hanahaki. With some patients, a removal of their roots means they are able to love as wholly and freely without fear of being plagued by their problem flower ever again. For others, they love with the same unrequited intensity that brings the disease back at full force, and as a result undergo the surgery more than once in a lifetime. More commonly, however, feelings come and go along with the disease, which is why we typically set time requirements for surgery.”

__

“I see…” he says quietly. “Thank you, that was all I wanted to know.”

__

“No problem.” She gives him a small smile. “I’ll submit a request for surgery request to Sendai hospital by the end of the day. Because your case is considered an emergency, you’ll likely get a call in the next three days or so for scheduling.”

__

He blinks. _So soon?_

__

“In the meantime, it’s very important that you—and I cannot stress this enough—avoid any and all potential triggers for an attack: be it people, places, _or_ things. Are we clear?”

__

“C-Crystal!”

__

__

_I’m doing a terrible job so far,_ is probably his first thought of the day.

__

When Tadashi reaches the end of his block and finds Tsukki casually leaned against a sign post, he’s confused.

__

It’s not that it’s strange to find Tsukki at their usual meet up spot, waiting on him as per usual (he does apologize for the waiting, which is always returned with an empty threat of ditching him the next time) but it’s the fact that he’s chosen to meet with him after last week’s disaster that makes him freeze in place and give his best impression of a gaping fish.

__

See, while Tadashi hadn’t given any real indication that wanted to be left alone, after his attack and Tsukki’s subsequent silence over the weekend, he’d come to the realization that Tsukki himself was avoiding him, or at the very least giving him space.

__

His decision to pay him no mind had been unexpected—Tsukki had many talents, minding his business certainly wasn’t one of them—but it pretty much confirmed his worst fear:

__

He knew Tadashi liked him; he knew those Sakura branches were meant for him.

__

“Tsukki!” he calls out, and tries not to sound panicked. “What are you doing here?”

__

He gives him a hard, probing look.

__

“Waiting for you, obviously,” he says finally. He walks on ahead and Tadashi nearly stumbles in his effort to catch up.

__

Their walk is relatively silent; again, not unusual. Tsukki often wears his headphones on their walk to morning practice when neither of them can be bothered to say anything beyond a tired ‘morning.’ Sometimes he’d make a game out of guessing the song he’s currently tuned into by discerning soft drums and faint riffs that emit from the worn memory foam.

__

He looks at Tsukki. His headphones rest around his neck; no music plays out of them.

__

The silence now is uncomfortable. It’s so thick and awkward that his palms sweat and he starts getting hot under his collar despite the mild weather. There’s so much he wants to say that weighs on his tongue, but his lips are pressed tight, and so the heavy silence persists.

__

There was no doubt that Tadashi had upset his friend with a frightening manifestation of a confession. He had to be careful about this.

__

“I’m—" he chokes out. “I’m sorry.”

__

Tsukki stops and slowly turns to him with a raised brow.

__

“For the whole…” Yamaguchi fumbles with his hands before settling for a mock vomiting gesture.

__

Tsukki looks less than impressed, but he quickly schools his expression as he looks back on their path ahead. “It’s…fine.” 

__

Tadashi eyes him skeptically. _It’s not fine,_ he wants to say. _You were avoiding me,_ he thinks and the words nearly slip out, accusatory and bitter, and _sad_ because he knows his feelings weren’t ideal, hell, he had trouble liking himself a lot of days, but were they so terrible that he couldn’t be bothered to reach out to him? Send one generic text message wishing him well?

__

God, what was he doing? He must’ve been some kind of masochist, talking about this now. An idiot for thinking he could do this with a level head. 

__

“The branches aren’t normal.”

__

He startles at the words.

__

Tsukki winces. “I mean—for Hanahaki,” he amends. “They’re meant to be flowers.”

__

“Well,” he trails off for a moment before he wills himself to _just get this over with_. “Branches are a thing too…just less common and more aggressive.”

__

He shoots him a worried frown.

__

“It’s okay! I’m getting the roots removed sometime this week. My doctor says it’s a pretty routine surgery, so I’ll be fine,” he assures hastily. “And you won’t have to deal with me being… _weird_ anymore.”

__

He risks a glance at Tsukki. His lips twist in a way that makes him think he wants to say more, though he’s not sure what (his mind is kind enough to supply worst-case scenarios). But when the quiet, disconcerting tension persists, Tadashi bites the bullet and asks:

__

“We’re okay, right?”

__

His eyes flit towards him, so quick he nearly jumps. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

__

“I mean—Aren't you—” he starts, but remembering Dr. Asami’s warning, shakes his head. He’d said his piece. It would be enough. For now. “Never mind.”

__

School goes okay, surprisingly. Tadashi had entered Karasuno’s gates with trepidation, because if Tsukki knew, and Fumiko knew, then there must’ve been plenty others that caught wind of his embarrassing predicament, right? And considering how things ended with Fumiko—Tadashi being a tad cruel towards the end of her confrontation, she must’ve at least felt enough resentment to pass on her misgivings to her friends. It was only natural that rumors would branch off from there.

__

But the uneasy feeling gradually dispels as the day drags on. No one looks at him funny, whispers don’t follow him as he passes by, and he had yet to receive any implicative comments.

__

But he _does_ bump into Fumiko.

__

It's during second period when he and Tsukki move to change classrooms. He'd accidentally knocked shoulders with her, lightly, but an apology already on his tongue, cut off only by the flash of panic he’d felt shoot down his spine at the sight of her.

__

Fumiko had looked equally perturbed, her eyes comically wide and frozen on his face.

__

“Y-Yamaguchi,” she'd stuttered after a moment of chill silence.

__

“...Hi?”

She'd glanced nervously at the student thronged hallway behind him, likely planning an escape route when she stopped short, and her eyes locked back on his so suddenly he'd nearly flinched. “Good luck, okay?”

__

“T-Thank you?”

__

She nodded, and had rushed past without another word. 

__

He’s still not sure what to make of their little exchange, though the run did seem to put Tsukki in a dark mood despite being the quiet spectator, but things are relatively normal following after, and when lunch rolls around, Tadashi could safely say he was in the clear.

__

Lunch with Tsukki is a quiet affair, though no where near as awkward as the walk to school or Fumiko incident had been. Tsukki alters between eating and reviewing equations for their upcoming math test. Tadashi, for the most part, looks down at his own poor excuse of a bento. He pokes at the cold clumps of rice and cuts through the gross runny texture of his poorly shaped tamago. Cooking wasn’t his forte, clearly, but he liked to think he was getting better. Today’s meal was an outlier, he reasoned. 

__

“Hey Yamaguchi! You busy?”

__

He lowers his chopsticks and looks towards the source of the voice. A couple decibels higher than the general chatter of the room, it’s Hinata who enters the classroom with the sort of familiarity you wouldn’t expect from someone not actually a part of the class.

__

“Not really. What do you need?”

__

“Ah, well, I kind of failed my history quiz?” He takes the spare seat in front of them. “Sensei’s giving me another chance, but I was hoping you could maybe take a look at it and tell me what I did wrong so it’s easier to study for the retake!”

__

Hinata looks at Tsukki. He has yet to acknowledge him. Tadashi would nudge him for being rude if things already weren’t so tense between them.

__

“If you guys are working on something, I can just ask Yachi.”

__

“Hinata, wait!” Tadashi reaches across the desk and grabs him by the shoulder just as he makes a move to get up. “I’m really not doing anything. Tsukki just self-studies sometimes because he’s bad at math.”

__

He doesn’t have to look at Tsukki to know he’s being glared at. 

__

“S-Sorry, Tsukki.”

__

He slips on his headphones and cranks up the volume on his phone.

__

“Well if you’re sure,” Hinata says, slowly sliding his heavily red-marked paper towards him.

__

Tadashi probably comes off a little too eager, quickly setting aside his lunch in favor of correcting the quiz, but he’d been waiting for an opportunity to make it up to Hinata for a while now. Kageyama too, but mostly Hinata.

__

Despite his carefree sentiments, Hinata was actually really sensitive about his academic setbacks. Tadashi had come to that discovery himself one day after practice when he’d walked in on Hinata crouched crying in the corner of the club room, a crumpled-up test laying at his feet. Tadashi had done his best to lay off the idiot jokes ever since, tried to be more encouraging and less dick-ish, but blowing up on Hinata the way he had last week had really put a damper on his efforts. 

__

“You seem to be getting the right idea in the long answer section, but you just forgot to mention a few key moments—I’ve listed them on the side here—so you got marks docked. And just pay closer attention to the wording in the true and false section and you’ll be sure to get them right next time!”

__

“Wow, thanks Yamaguchi! I knew I could count on you!”

__

He grins, which Hinata returns in kind.

__

But it falters at the sound of the bell.

__

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take up your whole lunch," he says, staring guiltily at his largely uneaten bento.

__

“No worries! I already spoiled my appetite with some candy I had earlier,” he responds with an easy lie.

__

And suddenly, the space between them diminishes and they’re only centimeters apart.

__

“I was wondering why your breath smelled so fruity,” he laughs. “Share some with me!”

__

“O-Oh, well, I—” _Fruity?_

__

Tsukki pulls him back into his chair. “What are you doing?”

__

Hinata blinks a few times before his actions seem to register. He quickly backs into his own seat with an embarrassed flush. “I didn’t mean—Sorry!”

__

Tadashi awkwardly clears his throat. “It’s fine.”

__

Tsukki scoffs. “Save the flirting for the King next time.”

__

His head snaps towards him. “ _Tsukki_.”

__

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

__

“You two are always up in each other’s faces anyhow. I don’t see why you’d want to change that now.” Then in a quieter voice mutters, “ _Weirdo_.”

__

“Weirdo? _Me?_ When you’re the one making it weird?”

__

“Hinata, I’m sure he didn’t mean—”

__

“And at least I’m not _weirdly_ possessive of my friends,” he spits back.

__

He narrows his eyes at that. “Don’t read too much into it. Not everyone’s like you.”

__

Awkwardness be damned. “Tsukki, you’re being—”

__

“No, he’s right! They’re not!” He snatches the quiz off the desk. “Sucks to be you, huh?”

Hinata storms out of the classroom and slams the track door behind him. It’s loud enough that all conversations still for a moment, but only for a moment.

_From Dad [13:00]: Why did your school contact me last Friday? They called three times but didn’t bother leaving a message. Unbelievable._

__

_From Dad [13:05]: Oh. My voicemail was disabled. Stupid phone._

__

_From Dad [13:07]: Tadashi._

__

_To Dad [15:10]: Sorry, I was in class._

____

__

____

_From Dad [15:13]: Did you get in trouble?_

____

__

____

_To Dad [15:15]: No. They probably wanted to let you know about the parent-teacher meeting they have coming up. It’s not important._

____

__

____

_From Dad [15:16]: They already know I can’t make time for that. Tell them to call me for emergencies only._

____

__

____

_To Dad [15:1] I will._

____

____

He must look like a sorry sight, sitting by the steps outside the gym on a rainy afternoon while club is still in session. He can hear his teammates’ boisterous voices through the door, the familiar _smack_ of palms against synthetic leather, and the occasional whistle preceding Coach Ukai’s gruff yelling. It feels nostalgic, strange seeing as it’s only been a couple days since he last stepped on the court.

He doesn’t think Coach Ukai or Takeda-sensei would take too kindly to his being here. They’d been the one’s to finalize his suspension from club activities after all. It seems Dr. Watari had followed up on his ‘promise’ (the smaller, bitter part of him amends it to threat) and had gotten into contact with the two of them some time over the weekend. He’s not sure how much they’d been told, but both had expressed their concerns in the subsequent meeting discussing his options. 

_‘We think it’s best if you take some time off from club activities. We understand your frustration, but the best thing you can do right now is prioritize on your health.’_

_‘You still have a place on the team. Whatever disappointment you feel now—remember it and work that energy into your serves when you return. Just focus on getting better, kid.’_

It was meant to be encouraging.

And it was. It’s just…

A quick look through his phone logs shows two missed calls from his dad and one from an unknown number.

His stomach flips unpleasantly as he pockets his phone.

He’s scared.

It’s stupid. It’s not like he wants to go through another attack, in pain and alone as Tadashi had been in those terrifying first few minutes. He’s sick of being on alert at all times, always afraid of his thoughts veering into dangerous territory. He hates how tense things are with Tsukki. He wants to get better more than anything.

Yet thought of getting the procedure doesn’t sit well with him either. He might’ve been able to be discreet before—making doctors’ appointments, refilling his prescriptions, getting consultations—but this was a _surgery_. There was no conceivable way he could hide it from his dad. Absent as he was most days, even he would notice the time he’d have to take off to recover, would notice his post-op scars. His dad would find out and Tadashi would be forced to open a dusty can of worms. 

They would have to talk eventually, he knew that, he just wanted it to be on his own terms.

The door behind him opens.

He futilely scrambles for cover.

“If you two can’t go two minutes without clawing at each other’s throats, don’t bother coming back,” Someone yells, Ennoshita by the sounds of it, before the door slams shut.

“This is all your fault.”

Tsukki clicks his tongue, but says nothing.

“ _Argh,_ you’re usually a jerk, but these past couple days you’ve been like…next level jerk! Especially to me and Kageyama! But why? Did something happen with—Yamaguchi! H-Hey!”

Tsukki whips around. “What are you still doing here?”

“I, um, thought we could walk together?” Tadashi offers, awkwardly dusting himself off.

He doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but Tadashi can still feel his searching stare. “Let me get changed first.”

Hinata smiles nervously as he slowly backs away. “Guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow?” He jolts when Tsukki turns back to glare at him. “Right. Bye!”

“What did you guys get kicked out for?” he asks a few minutes later when Tsukki comes out of the club room. His uniform is a little rumpled and he has a button undone below the collar.

“Hinata was being unnecessary.”

Tadashi looks at him waiting for some kind of elaboration, and quirks a brow when none comes. Strange. Complaining about Hinata was one of Tsukki's favorite pastimes. He was never quite roundabout it. Then again, he and Hinata seemed to have formed a strange friction, one he’d only noticed at lunch but had probably gone on for much longer than that, if there was any truth in what he’d heard earlier. Was he purposely being kept out of the loop?

“He usually is,” Tadashi agrees with a weak laugh.

“Whatever. I’m done talking about that shorty.” He shoves his hands into his pockets in a huff. “Why the sudden decision to walk together anyway? Didn’t you say you were heading home first?”

He stiffens. “Um, actually…I was considering sitting in for practice. You know, so I’m not as lost when I return.” It’s not the whole truth; he hopes Tsukki doesn’t pick up on the partial lie. “But I don’t think Coach or Takeda-sensei would’ve liked that very much.”

“It’s pretty hard to fall behind when we’re not doing anything new in the first place.” 

“I guess you’re right...”

“Also, coach already told the team you were taking a temporary leave of absence; you would’ve only invited more questions if you showed up.”

“Ah.”

Tadashi isn’t sure if this is Tsukki’s way of reassuring him, or if he’s just spelling things out for him as per usual because he thinks he’s stupid. _It’s probably the latter._ He frowns. Getting close to the sport he was told not to play, seeking out the boy who doesn’t see him the same way, Tadashi was doing the things he was explicitly told not to do, hardly smart decision making. And the thing was, he knew that, he _knew_ it wasn’t smart, and yet he kept on doing these stupid things because he was _stupidly_ in love with—

“— _Yamaguchi._ ” It’s the irritation in his voice that snaps him away from his thoughts. 

“Yes!” he exclaims with a jump.

“Your phone,” he says motioning towards his pocket, and only now does he pick up on its shrill ringing and the tickling buzz against his thigh. “Are you just going to let it go voicemail?”

“No—I’ll just—” He rifles through his pocket and hastily answers his cell out of habit. “Hello?”

_“Good afternoon. Is this Tadashi Yamaguchi?”_

“Yes?”

_“Hello, I’m calling on behalf of Sendai Hospital to—"_

And promptly hangs up. 

“You hung up on them,” Tsukki says mildly. 

“No.”

“Who was that?” he asks, not bothering to humor him.

“It’s—I’ll get back to them.”

“Them?”

“I’d just rather not talk on the phone when I’m with someone.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“Well, what’s it to you anyway?”

Tsukki blinks, nonplussed. “Why are you getting defensive? It’s not like you to just hang up on someone. Forgive me if I get a little curious.”

“Well, sorry if I like keeping some things to myself,” he snaps and silently curses at himself.

He snorts. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Tadashi stops walking. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Do I really have to say it?”

Tadashi clenches his phone.

It rings then, the music muted against his palm.

Tsukki sighs. “Just answer it. I’m not really in the mood to talk, anyway.”

He tries to stomp down on the flare of frustration he felt scorching his chest. He had tried _so_ hard to maintain a sense of normality all day, but Tsukki had been so tense, much easier to irritate, _meaner_. And worse, things always seemed to circle back to what was left unsaid.

Why did he ever bother? 

“It’s the hospital,” he says quietly, so quiet he doesn’t think Tsukki hears him till he notices the tell-tale sign of his jaw clench. “They want to schedule a date for my surgery.”

“Oh.”

It seems like ages before Tsukki speaks again. “Then what are you waiting for?”

His chest stings at the words.

"I…" 

The surgery still weighs on him.

He was assured he wouldn’t come off the operating table an emotionless zombie, but it was naïve to think some part of him—a core part of him—wouldn’t change. Dr. Asami had said so herself—in nicer terms, at least. 

And therein lied the problem: while he might’ve put a label on what he felt for Tsukki at thirteen, the truth of the matter was he’d loved him for so much longer than that. Friendship had melded with love, that love shaping his experiences, his outlook, their bond. Tadashi knew if he went through with the surgery, he was going to lose _something_ and it scared him.

It’s why he’d chosen to relish every moment he had left of this, even if his recent talks with Tsukki left little to be desired. He knew his doctors would probably pop a vein if they saw him now, intentionally ignoring every strict order drilled into him in his appointments, he knew it was _stupid_ , but Tadashi would give himself some credit: he _would_ get the surgery when the time came for it. He wasn’t like Hana-chan from that dumb drama, who would’ve rather died than give up her feelings for her unrequited one. 

He loved Tsukki sure, but Tadashi liked to think he loved himself a little, too.

 _I'll answer the next time they call,_ he thinks decidedly.

__

As if on cue, his phone rings again, and his earlier resolve quickly deflates, shrinking a little more with each deafening chime.

__

He hears Tsukki huff sharply from beside him. “Is it really so worth it that you hesitate this much? Is that why you never told me?”

__

Tadashi bristles at his cold tone. “Tsukki, you _know_ why I couldn’t—”

__

“No, Yamaguchi, I _don’t,_ ” he snarls. 

__

He opens his mouth, unsure of what to say. What did Tsukki want? A verbal confirmation of his own feelings? His stomach sinks at the thought, its plausibility making his jaw lock tightly.

__

A gust of wind breezes past him then, and Tadashi shivers having been caught in the downpour earlier. The chill seeps into his bones, coursing through his body like a current. It travels up his chest where it settles into the dip of his collarbone and sparks heat so suddenly he almost chokes.

__

“Yamaguchi,” he presses at his silence.

__

“Because I like you.” The confession slips out so easily, so thoughtlessly that his mind doesn’t even register the words as he says them, yet his tongue becomes increasingly heavy, rough against the roof of his mouth.

__

Tadashi resumes his walk, feeling oddly weightless as he does so. Gingerly, his fingers brush against his throat; his hands were cold like ice, but the skin over his neck felt hot to the touch.

__

A familiar pressure builds up at the base of his throat.

__

Tsukki pulls him back by the wrist then. “You can’t just say something like that and walk away. I thought—”

__

It’s like a trigger.

__

A white-hot pain shoots up his throat with such intensity that he audibly gasps, ripping his hand away from Tsukki’s grasp to press his palm against himself. It’s a feeble attempt at soothing the ache and his eyes water as a new pain blooms in his larynx, and a sickly-sweet taste begins to coat his tongue.

“Yamaguchi?” Tsukki’s voice is oddly distant, like hearing a whisper on the wind.

“Tsukki, I messed up.” His palm is still pressed against his neck, but he uses his free hand to grip the sleeve of Tsukki’s uniform. “I wasn’t supposed to say it. I wasn’t even supposed to talk to you—Tsukki, I _really_ messed up.”

He coughs hard against a solid lump that forms in his trachea. His breath stops short, and his hold on Tsukki tightens as he circles between trying to breathe and trying to un-lodge the ball in his throat.

He feels Tsukki shift, and Tadashi is suddenly pressed against him when he reaches downwards to grab his phone. It had fallen at some point, at the end of his confession or at the start of his attack he wasn’t sure, but none of that matters because Tsukki is speaking rapidly now, his words a blur—he still sounds so far away—but the waiver in his voice is unmistakable.

“Tsu—” His throat bobs, the swell shifts upward, and an ice-cold dread washes over him. It’s getting harder to breathe, the sliver of air he managed to inhale in between coughs gradually thins as the wad moves up towards his tongue. Panic makes his heart beat so fiercely he can hardly discern between beats.

He feels Tsukki squeeze his forearm. It’s hard enough that he senses the tremors from the hold dance above his skin. “I’ve called an ambulance,” he hears him say. “They’re on their way, Tadashi, just hold on. Just…”

He’s getting dizzy. The mix of fear and lack of air make his head feel light and things blur all around him, but he can feel the ball touch base between the back of his tongue and the tip of his uvula just moments before he thinks he’s about to pass out. One last push from his throat and—

In his hand lands a hefty mesh of Sakura petals in various stages of ruin with little broken up pieces of stem mixed between them.

Tadashi wouldn’t describe it as relief, not quite. He isn’t even sure if there’s more to come after this, if the clump in his hand is a precursor to something much worse, and so Tadashi drinks each gulp of air like it’s his last, relishing in the fact that his lungs can expand to full capacity, that nothing obstructs his path upon exhaling.

And when his breathing evens out and his heart beat falls back into its natural rhythm, his eyes sting with such intensity he’s forced to shut them tight, expelling hot tears that trail down his cheeks and fade into the darkness of Tsukki's uniform .

Tsukki sighs shakily from above him.

“I’m sorry,” Tsukki says, breathless, like he’s been punched in the gut.

He shuts his eyes, ashamed. He didn't need to hear the rest of this.

As if sensing his desire to leave, Tsukki’s hold on him tightens.

“Please, just listen.”

Hiccupping slightly, Tadashi scrubs his face on his sleeve, and blinks twice to clear his vision.

Their eyes meet. 

He tries not to flinch.

“I didn’t know you liked me," he confesses. Tadashi stills. “When that girl brought me to you and I found you doubled over, choking on branches of all things, I thought I walked into the aftermath of confession gone wrong.”

“But you—” He winces. It hurts to speak. “You didn’t talk to me after my attack. I thought—”

“—I know my reaction wasn’t the best,” he cuts in, squeezing his arm unwittingly. “I should’ve been a better friend to you, reached out to you and see if you were doing okay. I didn’t, and I’m ashamed of that. It's not an excuse, but…I was angry: at myself for not knowing, and at you for not telling me.”

Tadashi averts his gaze.

“You never said anything about your condition and I was left floundering trying to understand why the guy who called me pathetic for not taking volleyball seriously suddenly wasn’t taking volleyball seriously.”

“I—didn’t want to disappoint you,” he admits, his voice hoarse and ugly. 

Tsukki holds his face between his hands, and he does flinch this time, but it's enough to coax Tadashi to look back at him.

“I might like volleyball a little more now, but in the end it’s still just a game; a club. Do you really think I care so much about winning that I’d put your life on the line?” 

He doesn’t respond. 

Tsukki sighs. "I guess you must have. I haven’t exactly been kind to you.”

“You’re wrong!” he shouts, and tries not to grimace at the twinge of pain his throat makes at the exclamation. He quickly fired up at the thought of Tsukki blaming himself. “You’ve always been so nice to me, Tsukki. It’s me who decided that kindness wasn’t enough anymore. I realized I liked you and selfishly wanted more.”

Tsukki balks at his unexpected declaration; Tadashi presses on.

“How could you think I could like anyone else but you?”

“Yamaguchi…”

“Tsukki,” he returns. He tries to smile, but it wobbles and quickly falls. “You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m done hesitating. I’ll get the surgery and—”

“ _—Don't_.”

He blinks, caught off guard by the interruption. “What?”

“Don't…" he says again, quieter this time, and ducks his head. His hair tickles his forehead. “Please don't go through with it.”

“Tsukki, I don’t understand.”

He breaks away from the crouch to look at him. His eyes glint in a way he's never seen before. 

“I like you, too.”

Tadashi opens his mouth. "Oh." He closes it.

And just like that, Tsukki blushes despite himself. _It's cute,_ he finds himself thinking. “I always felt like you knew. Ever since first year—no, maybe even before then I…I thought I was being obvious about it—even Hinata figured it out after nationals—”

“ _Hinata,_ ” he chokes disbelievingly.

“Yes.” His eyes narrow at the mention. “He’s been very annoying about it.” 

Tadashi’s head spins with information overload—Tsukki liking him? Hinata being in the know? They sound like statements come out of a bad game of two truths and a lie.

Tsukki looks at him with a frown. “Do you doubt me?”

“I don't think you would lie about something like this, Tsukki.”

“But?”

He shifts, though his movement is restricted with Tsukki still holding onto him. He should feel embarrassed by his close proximity, he thinks, his heart beating a million times a minute, his face flushed so deep that his internal body temperature rises a degree or two, both reactions accompanied by flurry of thoughts and emotions that make him dizzy, but Tadashi feels none of those things, oddly calm. He could chalk it up to the fervor of his middle school crush cooling overtime, but he knew the crux of his affection—the need to be closer, his want to overindulge in Tsukki, his desires to just stay like this—together—had never gone away, not really. He didn’t need outward proofs like his branches to prove that.

“Can I kiss you?”

That must not be the response Tsukki expects, if the way he jerks back in surprise is any indication. Doubt flints across his face, but Tadashi isn’t deterred, or at least tries not to be, his eyes still locked with Tsukki’s despite the color slowly creeping up his face.

He doesn’t get a response, not a verbal one anyway, but from his peripheral vision he watches as Tsukki’s hands move up from his arms to his shoulders where they rest for a moment before clasping them, his touch gentle and feather light. He’s pulled forward and Tsukki closes a gap that isn’t that great in the first place, and presses his mouth against his.

The kiss is chaste, but overwhelms him nonetheless. He feels a tingle where their lips meet, the pleasant buzz spreading down his neck, his chest, to his shoulders where Tsukki holds him in place. His lips are soft, but feel solid against his—careful, purposeful. It elicits a warmth at his core, like a sip of hot cocoa drunk after a day spent playing in the snow.

But the kiss ends as quickly as it starts. Tsukki pulls away and Tadashi mourns the loss. He grabs the front of his uniform and leans in for more, but his vision does something funny then. It shifts and swirls, brightens and sparks with array of colors that makes his head spin and his lips miss their intended target, grazing Tsukki’s cheek instead.

His head falls on Tsukki's shoulder.

He thinks he hears sirens.

“Yamaguchi?”

“Sorry Tsukki, I'm just really… _tired._ ”

The colors tracking across his sight begin to dim, and blackness closes in on him from all corners.

Tsukki says something, but Tadashi can’t make out the words, his voice having gone all soft and cotton-like again. He still hears the worried lit in his tone however, unmistakable in spite of his confusion, and so Tadashi uses the last of his strength to whisper a quiet reassurance before he passes out. 

_“What do you mean you’re not going through with the surgery?”_

He pulls the phone away with a wince. Tsukki looks up from his book with a raised brow; Tadashi waves him off with a tight smile.

“Please calm down, sensei. I promise I’m not being reckless this time. It’s just, uh, you know…” he shifts in his hospital bed, fingers tapping nervously over his pull over table where a half-eaten fruit cup rests beside three x-ray photos splayed across the surface. “I don’t need it anymore?”

_“I don't follow.”_

“W-What I mean is…" Tsukki places his hand over his. He stops tapping. “It worked out, so getting surgery is kind of a moot point.”

 _“It worked out…? Oh_ —Oh! _Congratulations!”_

He grins.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, well that's it! Honestly started this in January and finally got around to finishing this bc Tsukkiyama week inspired me! I don't know if this seems choppy? I had an entirely different plan for this with regards to Yamaguchi's hanahaki, Fumiko (the OC) and Yamauguchi's dad but...it ended up not happening? Anyway tell me what you think! Or don't!! It's your life ♥
> 
> (will probs edit this from time to time when i feel like it--also!! if you think I forgot to tag, or mis-tagged something let me know! I will change it asap!!)


End file.
